


Differing Points Of View

by mieraspeller



Series: The Extended Evans Family [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Memory Charms, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:56:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21828694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mieraspeller/pseuds/mieraspeller
Summary: Scenes from the summer of 1992.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: The Extended Evans Family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572919
Comments: 35
Kudos: 305





	1. London

Jean Granger was starting to seriously worry about her daughter. Before they’d even returned from their trip to Paris, she’d been despondent. She’d shrugged off going to the Bibliothèque Historique de la Ville de Paris! Even going to Diagon Alley and picking up a few extra books for the summer hadn’t cheered her up. 

“Malcolm, I know when we agreed to send Hermione to school -“ 

“Thank god,” he said, setting the drill aside with naked relief on his face. “I was going to talk to you after we finished for the day.” 

Jean briefed a sigh of relief. Then remembered her patient. “Sorry, Mrs. Ming, we’ll have you done in a mo’.” 

As soon as they were done, they drove down to pick up Hermione from her summer program at the Library. They exchanged worried looks when she got into the car without a single book. 

“Sweetheart, please tell us what’s wrong,” Malcolm, who wasn’t driving, said, turning to look at the their daughter. 

She blinked up at them, then burst into tears. Jean pulled over, and the two of them climbed into the backseat, holding Hermione on either side. It took several minutes for her to calm from her crying jag. 

“I’m s-sorry,” she gasped. 

“Hermione, please tell us,” Jean said in a soothing voice.

“I just haven’t heard from Harry all summer, and I’m really worried about him! His relatives are awful, and they hate magic, and Ron hasn’t heard anything either, and now he hasn’t written me, and-“ she broke off, into a fresh wave of tears. 

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. Jean nodded. 

“We’ll drive over there right now,” Malcolm said. “You’ve his address?” 

She nodded, taking in shuddering breaths. “Y-yes. You will? You don’t think I’m overreacting? Maybe he just doesn’t want to be friends anymore,” she said, and her lip began trembling again. 

“Darling, I’m certain that’s not the case. Let’s go and we’ll find out. You’re a very sensible girl, and if you’re worried about Harry, then I believe you.” 

Hermione managed to calm down enough that Jean took the wheel again, leaving Malcolm in back with their daughter. She managed to get the address out of her, and mapped out a route to Little Whinging on the map in the glovebox. 

They were at Privet Drive in forty minutes, with London traffic, and drove down slowly to number 4. 

Hermione let out a gasp. Jean did, as well. There was a large woman in the yard, hammering in a ‘For Sale’ sign. Jean pulled over in front of the house.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” she said. She got out of the car and walked over, waving at the woman. “Hello, sorry, we’re looking for the family that lives here,” she said. 

The woman straightened. Jean didn’t like to judge on appearances, but the woman’s expression was anything but friendly. There was also, she realized, a large boy of around twelve sitting on the porch with an ice lolly. A dog began barking from the back of the car in the park. 

“That’s what’s left of them,” she said, gesturing at the boy. “His parents died in a car crash two weeks ago.” 

Jean eyed the boy, quite certain he didn’t fit the description of Harry Potter. “Er, the Dursley’s?” 

“Yes,” the woman said shortly. 

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Jean said delicately. “Was Harry… in the car?” She asked.

“Better if he had been,” she said with a snarl, and Jean took a step back. “No, he’s off with some relative of Petunia’s in America now, or so I’ve been told. Not a bit surprised Petunia’s family were colonials - she was never good enough for Vernon.” The woman pulled out a large hanky and blew her nose noisily. “The only good boy in the family, little Dudley there, is staying with me.” 

“I’m sorry, but my daughter is a friend of Harry’s. I don’t suppose you have his new address? Perhaps a telephone number?” 

She snorted. “She’s better off without him,” the woman said rudely. “And no.” She turned, rather pointedly, and Jean frowned and walked back to the car. It seemed they had some research to do. 

The PC they had eventually got through to that evening was willing to give them the information on the Dursley’s accident, but couldn’t give them any information about Harry. Child’s Services wouldn’t give out the information as they weren’t family. So, they spent Saturday at the National Archives, and Jean stayed home with Hermione Monday, going round to the Register’s office, to find a birth certificate for Petunia or Lily Evans. 

Nadine, the woman Jean spoke to, very kindly helped them find the information she explained the situation. From there, they found the marriage certificate of their parents, Richard Evans and Rose Brown. Neither of them had birth certificates, but there were death certificates for both, and Richard Evans’ listed him as being born in Rockport, Massachusetts. 

There, unfortunately, they hit a snag - Jean managed to track down a number to the Registry of Vital Records in Massachusetts, but it would take three weeks to get the birth certificate of Richard Evans, and then they would need to do it all over again for whoever his parent or relative was. 

“We could go to the police and file a missing persons report,” Hermione suggested. 

“Why don’t you try sending him another letter first? Perhaps he didn’t receive your letter because he’d moved,” Jean suggested. 

“Alright,” Hermione agreed, a bit glumly. Jean went to get the robe she’d bought to wear in Diagon Alley while Hermione dashed out a letter. It seemed to consist of a lot of capital letters, Jean noticed. The telephone started ringing as she was closing the door, and despite Hermione’s expression, Jean ran back in to pick up. 

“Granger residence, Jean speaking,” she said quickly. 

“Hi,” said a drawling American voice. “I’m looking for two Doctor Grangers and a Hermione Granger?” 

Jean, a bit taken aback, said, “Yes, that’s us.” 

“Thank Merlin,” came on a relieved sigh. “We’ve been calling around all evening. Harry didn’t have your number, so I’ve called about a dozen Doctor Grangers in London today.” 

“Harry? Oh!” Jean said. “Well, that’s fortuitous. Hermione has been rather worried, as well. Actually, we’ve been trying to find you -“ 

“Mum!” Hermione called impatiently. 

“One moment,” she said quickly. “Hermione!” She called, covering the phone. “Hermione, it’s Harry.” 

“What!” She half shrieked. She tore into the house and Jean held out the phone before Hermione could yank it from her. 

“Harry! Oh - could I speak to him please?” A brief pause, then Hermione’s face lit up. “Harry! I’ve been so worried! You - you didn’t get my letters? Someone stole them? Why would someone steal your post?” Hermione looked confused, and Jean leaned in, hoping to hear the other half of the conversation. She listened for a good minute, eyes growing wider and wider, before she squealed. “Yes, yes! Oh, well, I better ask Mum, just a second.” Hermione covered the mouthpiece. “Mum, Harry never got my letters, he thought I wasn’t writing him, something was stealing his mail, but his cousin, who’s a detective, caught them, and he’s been calling all over trying to reach me, and he said we could visit them in California if we wanted!” 

Jean took a moment to process all that. “Let me speak to his guardian, please.” 

Hermione sighed. “Harry, mum wants to speak to your cousin. Yes, I’ll call you either way,” she said, and then grabbed a pen a scribbled down a number on the pad next to the phone. “Yes, I’ve got it. What?!” She half shrieked. “You’re not going back to school?!” She scowled. “Mum, he says his cousin will explain it to you.”

“Hello?” Jean asked. 

“Hi,” the same American voice said. “I’m not sure how much actual information got across there - I’m John Sheppard, I’m Harry’s guardian, and he’s been staying with us since July 28th. There was a lot of stuff going on, the sort of thing the kids’ school deals with. Harry sent a letter explaining all of it that should be there in a day or two.” 

“Oh, well, thank you, Mister - or is it Detective Sheppard…?” Jean said, a little confused. Then it hit. They were talking about magic. Clearly. “Er, is there anything else you can tell me now? Hermione mentioned something about visiting?” 

“Call me John. And we were thinking over the winter break, or next summer,” John said. “Either here, or we could organize meeting somewhere - outside of Britain. My family is quite willing to do anything they can to help Harry settle in here.” Jean heard a protest from the background, and then John said, “Eleven years of birthday presents,” in a pointed sort of tone. Before Jean could say anything, he added, “But yes, there is another reason for trying to reach you so quickly. The person stealing his mail told us about a threat for the upcoming school year. After Harry almost died last year -“ 

“What?” Jean squeaked. “Harry almost died?” She looked at Hermione, who quickly looked away. 

“... your daughter didn’t tell you about that. Right, I’ll write down the basics and mail that to you, as well. The school is ignoring the threat and without the school governors’ cooperation the Au— authorities can’t do much, so I was hoping you could help us pass on the word to some of the other students and their parents.” 

“Of course,” Jean said. “As soon as we have the facts, we’ll write the Weasleys and the Longbottoms and the rest of Hermione’s year mates.” 

“Good - hopefully if enough of them complain, the Ministry will be forced to do something about it.” 

They rang off, and Jean turned to face her daughter, hands on her hips. “Miss, you’d better tell me everything, before I hear it from Mister Sheppard.” 

Hermione bit her lip. “I’m sorry! I thought you wouldn’t let me go back!” 

“Hermione Jean Granger, we both know that Hogwarts is not the only magical school in the world.” 

“But - but I have friends there, and it’s the best one!” 

“Hermione…” 

Hermione sniffled again, and Jean led her into the living room. 

“Tell me everything.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was early afternoon, and light spilled across the pale cream walls of the waiting room. There was half an hour between the end of her lunch break and the next appointment, which gave Linda Jones plenty of time to brew a cup of tea and check the messages. She found one from Alastair Arnold, a cancellation. She shook her head, ponytail bouncing, and made a note to contact the Auror office about the lapse. Mister Arnold had three more court mandated sessions with a mind healer before he would regain his wand permit. 

She double checked the afternoon schedule while she sipped her tea. Everything appeared in order. The first patient was a new one, a young boy that had a recent change of guardianship. And he had been recently removed from an abusive home, she guessed, reading between the lines on the forms. New guardian was an Auror, which could go either way, and he was from England, poor kid. She copied the paperwork, filed the originals, and took the copies to knock on Healer Lethe’s door. 

“Enter,” came a muffled call. Linda opened the door and leaned in. 

“Next appointment in fifteen,” she reminded the healer, who still had the remnants of her lunch on her desk. 

“Oh, thanks, Linda,” Healer Lethe said, banishing the mess. “Who have we got?” 

Linda walked into the large, light filled office and set a stack of forms on the glass topped desk. 

“Harry Evans, with guardian,” she informed her boss, and tapped the form on the top of the pile. “The new guardian’s an Auror, John Sheppard. This will just be an introductory session to make sure Mister Evans is comfortable. Oh, and Mister Arnold cancelled again.” 

Healer Lethe sighed. “Wonderful. Did you forward that on to the Auror Office?” 

“The new patient?” Linda asked, brow furrowed. “Oh! The cancellation. No, but I will. Did you need anything?” 

“No, thank you, Linda.” 

“Fifteen minutes!” She reminded and sailed back out to her desk. She had time to call the West Division Offices about Mister Arnold and throw a cleaning charm at her mug and tuck it back out of sight before the bell chimed. A moment later the door swung open, bringing with it a hot breeze and a thrum of voice from the Market before it shut again, engaging the silencing wards. 

Tall, fit and sunglasses, she guessed was the Auror, while of course the far too skinny child with the hunched shoulders and nervous expression was Harry Evans. The third man, chin jutting forward, eyes darting around the office before circling back between the other man and the child was, she decided, moral support, but uncomfortable with it. Or possibly uncomfortable with healers in general. But Harry was leaning in to the two men for comfort, which was a good sign his current guardians were better than his last. 

Linda smiled at them. “Hello, come in. Evans?” 

The boy started, but the Auror nodded. “Yes, I’m John Sheppard, this is Harry.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and handed over a card which proved to be insurance, along with an identification card. “I know we’re a bit early.” 

“Let me just get a copy of this,” she waved the insurance card. “Have a seat. There’s cookies in the tin, if you like,” she added, gesturing at the blue tin resting on the corner of her desk. She stood and walked back to the filing cabinets - not strictly necessary, but she wanted to give them a moment to acclimate. 

“I’ve got to -“ one of the men said. Moral Support, she guessed. 

“It’s okay,” and that was the child with his English accent. “Thanks, Rodney,” he added. There was a brief silence, then a murmur too soft for her to make out, before the bell went off. When she finished filing the insurance information and returned, Moral Support was gone, leaving only Auror Sheppard with Harry. 

“This way,” Linda said brightly, leading them over to the office door. She knocked smartly and entered, standing to the side. “Healer Lethe, Auror Sheppard and Mister Evans.” Then, the hardest part of her job, she stepped back out and shut the door. 

Then she went back to her desk and back to work. 

An hour later, the door to Healer Lethe’s office opened. Auror Sheppard exited first, with his back to her, and then turned so she could see Harry following along, arms crossed tightly across his chest. She caught a glimpse of reddened eyes before he ducked his head to look at the ground. Linda tried not to look too sympathetic - or too curious - as Harry loitered near the waiting room chairs while Auror Sheppard approached the desk. 

“Healer Lethe recommended twice weekly appointments for now,” he told Linda. “He’ll be starting school, if you have a time open after four.”

Linda, who had already deduced this would be necessary if patient and healer clicked, had found an open block, shuffling the short term Mister Arnold to a different time slot. “Four thirty on Tuesdays and Fridays?”

“Sounds great,” he said with a grimace that might pass for a smile in a dim light. He turned and walked back over to Harry, hovering an uncertain hand over his shoulder. Harry visibly tucked his discomfort away, said something about being promised ice cream, and lead the way out of the office. 

Linda sighed. Poor kid, she thought again. Then she had to remind Healer Lethe of her next appointment. The woman really wouldn’t be able to function without her.


	3. Chapter 3

“Rodney!” 

“Office,” a muffled reply came a few moments later. John sent his robes to the closet and checked Tevildo had food and water before trudging through the bedroom to the office. Rodney was bent over his desk with both his laptop and home computer working, scribbling in one of his rune notebooks. 

“Hey,” John said, resting a hand on the back of the desk chair and leaning down to kiss Rodney. Rodney automatically tilted his head to meet him and, despite his day, John smiled into the kiss. “Hey,” he said again. 

Then he sighed and dropped onto the battered sofa adjacent to the desk. He played idly with the glossy pages of the ‘informational fact sheets’ as Melena had called them, rolling them in nervous hands. The list of recommended therapists was folded into a paper plane and unfolded so many times the paper started to fray. Finally, John refolded it and threw it at Rodney’s head. 

“Hey! What?! I’m working!” Rodney snatched the plane from where it had bounced and landed in his pen holder and scowled at John, unfolding it and reading the header. Then he squinted at him. “What’s wrong? Where’s the kid? Did something happen?” 

“No. He’s at Miko’s until five. I, uh, stopped in at the clinic to reschedule Harry’s appointment to finish his vaccinations, since we’ll be visiting Jeannie.” John looked down, folding the cover of Affects of Childhood Neglect until all he could read was the word ‘neglect’. Then he wordlessly handed it over, along with the rest. 

Rodney flipped through them, face shifting from impatience to annoyance to anger. John leaned back on the sofa, tilting his head back and covering his face with his arm. He had no idea how to deal with this. He’d had his mom until he was sixteen, and then he’d had Grandma P, and the rest of the Evans family, and Rodney. 

A creak, and John lifted his arm to see Rodney standing from the desk chair and sliding onto the couch next to John. He leaned in, pressing close from shoulder to knee and sighed loudly. “How willing are you to look the other way about a little light necromancy?” 

John snorted, shaking his head.

“Seriously, I know a great-“ 

“Rodney.” John’s head thunked against the back of the couch. “I am terrible at…” he waved a hand vaguely toward the brochures. 

“Speaking? Expressing emotions? Finishing sentences?” 

John groaned and twisted to the side until his forehead slid into the crook of Rodney’s neck, muttering, “All of the above. Asshole.” Rodney wriggled to get his arm free then began combing through John’s hair gently. He sighed and relaxed, slumping further against him. 

“You seem to be doing fine so far. With some minor upsets.” 

While John wouldn’t call almost letting the kid get killed by a bludger wielding house elf a ‘minor upset’, it was comforting nonetheless.

“He hates me now.”

“Eh, once he goes a year or so without a murder attempt, I’m sure he’ll get over not going back to Hogwarts.” 

“Thanks, Rodney, that’s real comforting.”

“Then stop being an idiot. He doesn’t hate you. He’s adjusting. Just continue to do the opposite of what your father would do,” Rodney advised. John snorted. 

“Good advice.” He breathed slowly and quietly for another minute before sitting up. “Okay. I can do this.” 

“Don’t be a moron,” Rodney said, elbowing him. “_We_ can do this. You know Poinsettia and Teyla and Miko and everyone else are dying to help.” He paused then, before John could open his mouth, said, “Do _not_ apologize again, or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” 

John bit his lip, sighed, then managed a smile. “Gotcha. Just… thanks.” 

“Yes, yes. Now, we have -“ he glanced at the clock, “two hours to research.” He stalked back to the desk, tossing the brochures onto the couch next to John, along with a spiral notebook and a pen, then settled back in front of the computer with the frayed and creased list and a determined expression. “You study those, I’ll start the background checks on the _soft scientists_. I wonder if I could get Miko to design a therapist AI...” 

Grinning to himself, John watched his husband fondly, before getting to work.


	4. Chapter 4

August 4th, 1992

Minerva McGonagall was deep in her lesson plans when a muted pop and a polite cough alerted her to a visitor. She looked up, and saw one of the castle elves twisting her fingers around nervously. 

“Yes, Melly?” 

“Professor McGonagall, you is needed in the Headmaster’s office,” Melly said quickly. “He is being in a mood, a very, very bad mood.” 

“I thought he’d gone to London,” Minerva said, brow furrowing, but put that aside to reassure Melly. “Of course, I will be along shortly. Thank you for notifying me.” 

“Yes, Professor!” Melly said, and was gone again with a crack. Minerva spelled her papers down, adjusted her hat and robe, and stepped to the fireplace. 

“Headmaster’s office!” she called, tossing in a pinch of floo powder, and stepped through emerald green flames into chaos. Ducking instinctively, she drew her wand as several books went flying past. Scrolls were flurrying around the room and several maps were levitating just beyond the raised portion of the office where Albus’ desk sat. On the desk itself set an array of silver instruments that Minerva knew generally were scattered around his shelves. Albus himself was uncharastically ruffled, and scowling between map and instruments, as they threw off angry red sparks every time his wand pointed at either.

“Can’t possibly understand the consequences of this - !” he was muttering furiously, until his head jerked up. Minerva was momentarily taken aback when that glare landed on her, before his face smoothed into his usual genial expression. But, she noted, there was still something very strained about his eyes. 

“What’s happened?” she asked, striding forward. 

“A trifling matter,” he said, taking a deep breath and smoothing down his beard. “Is there something I can assist you with, Minerva?” 

“The house elves sent me, which makes this a school matter,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “What could possibly have you in such a state?” 

He looked at her searchingly for a long moment, before finally saying, “I’ve just found out that Harry Potter is no longer in England.” 

Minerva looked at him skeptically. “Yes…? I’m sure his relatives went on holiday, as most families do over the summer months.” She watched as his jaw clenched - only having known him for so many years did she recognize the slight shift under his beard for what it was. 

“His Aunt and Uncle are dead, and the boy has moved beyond my reach. If it wasn’t risking an international incident, I’d reactivate the Order immediately!” 

“Death Eaters?” Minerva asked, clutching a hand to her chest and thinking of the tiny first year boy with his mother’s fierce loyalty and his father’s talent on a broom. “You-Know-Who?”

Albus stopped mid-gesture and looked at her. He took another deep breath. “I’m afraid,” he said, in a low, intent voice, “that I have already said too much.” He waved a hand and Minerva swayed when something washed through her like a cold wind. “Thank you, but you ought to get back to your lesson plans, Professor. Term will soon be upon us all!” 

Minerva agreed foggily and let Albus guide her down the steps. Soon, she found herself alone in the hall, wondering why exactly she had needed to speak to Albus so urgently. 

For the life of her, she couldn’t remember.


End file.
